American Woman
by BtrixMcG
Summary: Brennan is kidnapped and sold into sexual slavery.  Guess who buys her?     WARNING!  Danger Will Robinson!  NC-17, BDSM Domination/submission themes, super-dooper hardcore
1. Chapter 1

**American Woman**

Brennan is kidnapped and sold into sexual slavery. Guess who buys her?

NC-17, BDSM Domination/submission themes, super-dooper hardcore

Disclaimer: Do these really matter? Oh, ok. I DISCLAIM.

Author's note: I'd say this story is not for the faint of heart. Nothing squicky or really perverse, but the idea of sexual slavery might bother some of you. If it does, don't read the story. I abhor as much as the next decent person the reality of sexual trafficking, but this is fantasy. And fantasy, especially sexual fantasies, are not bound by morality at all. In fact, I'd say, morality stifles it. Or at least for a big perv like myself. If you are inclined towards stories of sexual domination and submission, then you are in the right place. We are kindred souls. Kindred, kinky souls.

Additional author's note: You'll be happy to note that the entire story is written, so I'll be posting in a more timely manner than the last story. I'm just editing as I go along, so look for one chapter a week, which translates to two weeks in my reality.

Enjoy.

**Chapter 1**

It wasn't a place she ever expected to find herself: blindfolded, gagged, naked, and shackled to a post while everyday a dozen hands ran over her body inspecting every crevice. The nightmare had been going for over a week and the only thing she had to be thankful for was that nothing other than fingers ever found their way into any of her more intimate parts.

During the day she stood, chained to the wall, or knelt with her arms chained behind her back. At night she was collared and a chain kept her secure to a bolt in the wall. The cell was made entirely of rough, damp stone whose chill slowly permeated the floor and gradually seeped into her bones as she slept.

As she lay there each night shivering from cold and terror, it was the only time she allowed herself to cry. The big gulps of air she took in expelled itself in rage-filled cries. She tried to be silent the first few days, unwilling to let the guards or whomever witness to her turmoil, but by the third day her wails broke through her lips and the walls of the cell she was in. It didn't matter anymore who heard her.

During the day, she was either bored out of her mind or terrified out of her body. With every click of the lock and sound of the gates swinging open, she was sure this would be it. She'd be raped, beaten, or both. She has already endured a brutal beating when they kidnapped her. But she didn't go down without a fight, she thought proudly. She grimaced. It was a fight she ultimately lost.

She heard voices in and out of the cell through the day, most of them in Middle Eastern dialects, with some North African thrown in as well. Occasionally she heard Western voices, like French and German, which she could understand but they were so far away she couldn't make out any of the particulars of the conversations. By the myriad of languages it seemed the operation was global in scope. That scared her more than anything. It would be that much more sophisticated and therefore more difficult to escape.

She tried get a handle on her surroundings. Through a crack in the bottom of her blindfold, she could detect a small amount of natural light. Unfortunately it wasn't a large amount of light, indicating the window or source was on the small, inescapable side. The slam of the iron gate and the clang of the lock that kept her in each night began to sound like the gong of finality. The cell, as far as she could tell, was a fortress. There would be no easy escape.

Not that there seemed like there would be a way to escape, not the way they had her body locked up like Fort Knox. And without her sight, she was unable to even plot and escape effectively.

The sensory deprivation of being blindfolded for so long made her dizzy. When they hauled her to her feet each morning she nearly fell over, her inner ear having no bearings. The crack at the bottom of the blindfold allowed her only to see her own bare feet and the shoes of her kidnappers. Shoes she longed to spit on if she could. That, however, wasn't possible as she was gagged tightly.

The ball gag she wore was removed at night and replaced each morning. It had a small amount of stretch to it that allowed her to swallow, but the ball itself kept her mouth in an uncomfortably open position all day. That had to be the thing she hated the most. Forget being shackled, forget being naked in front of strange men. It was complete humiliation and she knew they knew it from the chuckles and bits of conversation they had in front of her while they tapped it like a hard-boiled egg. After the tapping, there might be a nipple tweak, rough, calloused fingers twisting them until she nearly cried out. Or a slap on the bottom. Thankfully, most of the time that was it. It seemed not everyone was allowed to touch her intimately. Those times when it did happen, seemed rushed and surreptitious, a finger shoved quickly up her pussy or a fat belly rubbing against her.

Other times she felt hands touching her that were almost clinical. She was plundered by hands in latex gloves that explored her pussy and, eliciting a gasp from her, her ass. She'd had anal sex before. so it wasn't excruciating pain, but it made her very tender afterwards and close to bursting into tears. This was a part of her body that was very soon going to be abused, violated. Why it was so much worse than the violations that would occur in any other part of her body, she couldn't tell you. But it just was.

While few were allowed to touch her that didn't stop the parade of men escorted in, who, upon watching her in a variety of poses, masturbated in front of her. She could hear their pathetic gasps as they orgasmed, hear their grunts as they spilled their seed on the stone tiles. It didn't matter if they weren't having sex with her, she definitely felt violated. This was one instance where being blindfolded had it's advantages.

Every morning she was awoken by a pair of hands washing her all over, pouring warm water over her hair, massaging her scalp. If she wasn't chained up and freaked out about being abducted, it might have been pleasant, relaxing. The hands that washed her were female, stocky and rough. She knew it was just some poor, local woman paid to take care of the "girls" as she heard them referred to in broken English. While the hair washing was pleasant, the shaving was not. After her hair was washed, the same woman laid her out on the stone floor and shaved every inch of hair from her body, spreading her legs and carefully tending to places where she didn't even know she had hair.

She was being primed and plumped for something and she hoped like hell it wasn't what she thought it was.

**&%9#$**

It was.

On what Brennan counted as Sunday, the 8th day of her captivity, she was unchained and felt something being snapped around her neck. As she felt herself being pulled along she realized it was a dog collar. She tripped and stumbled, bouncing off the walls and tripping over her feet. She could hear a chorus of male laughter behind her followed by what she assumed were lewd comments. Her cheeks burned with humiliation.

She felt the chain being yanked abruptly and she stopped. A hand on her shoulder pushed her down to her knees. Then pushed her further till she was sitting back on her heels.

She heard several men begin speaking. About her, presumably. God, why didn't she take Arabic in school? Knowing half a dozen ancient languages wasn't helping her in this particular predicament. She could catch a word here and there, the ubiquitous, untranslatable "blowjob" of course, but she also heard the word "virgin" then loud laughter. Well, yeah, she thought. I'm 30 years old. Not exactly fresh as a bunch of daisies. She wondered if this meant they would let her go, or maybe just kill her. Or maybe put her to work in some third-world brothel with advertisements like "Come Bang the American Whore." They might get her addicted to drugs, or sell her to someone sadistic who would use her and throw her off a boat in the middle of the...Heart thumping, she stopped herself from going any further with her thoughts. Truthfully there were no good scenarios. The most she could hope for would be to get in a position to escape.

She wished she could talk to Booth. She squeezed her eyes shut behind the blindfold, her heart clinching. Thinking of him, and the idea of never seeing him again, made her hurt in a way that impending sexual slave hood never could. It had been a really stupid idea to run away like she did. They were just getting close and she up and decides to take a two week vacation to North Africa without telling him or Angela or anyone exactly where she would be. She was paying for her mistakes, from wondering why she made them in the first place, to not being able to go back and apologize. Her blood begin to boil. She was going to die in this stupid God-forsaken who-knows-where country and she'd never get a chance to tell him.

To tell him what?

Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard someone say in clear English, "Tonight, 8 PM."

The chain was yanked up and she was led out into the corridor, back to her cell, she assumed. Instead, she was taken to a room with a wood floor and laid out on a hard bed and handcuffed to the headboard. She heard a female voice say in English, "Sleep," as a pillow, an honest to God pillow, was tucked under her head. Perpetual fear gave way to the rough comforts of how she remembered home. Immediately her eyes started to drift shut despite of what 8 PM meant.

**&^%9$%**

At six she was woken up and buffed and waxed some more. Her hair was washed again, dried, and styled and she felt her finger and toe nails being painted. She wondered how people got into the business of styling women for slave auctions. She assumed that was what was happening to her. They wouldn't bother with shaving her ass if they were going to kill her, right? She was going to be sold to some rich asshole who was going to do God knows what to her. Don't think about that, she thought with a grimace. Think of it as chance to escape. She kept repeating that mantra in her head.

As the time neared, the dog collar was re-affixed to her neck and she was led out of the holding room down a series of overlapping passages so byzantine that it made her dizzy. She was led into a room that had cold stone floors like her cell, and was made to sit kneeling for over an hour as she heard men murmuring about her from the doorway. Occasionally she could feel them come closer and walk around her, but no one touched her. She was relieved. It was bad enough what was coming, she'd hate to think she was going to be groped beforehand. The ball gag was removed, and she felt her mouth being opened wide and told in halting English to stick out her tongue. She did so, trying not to think of why she might be asked to do such a thing. They probably weren't checking for cavities. As the inspection continued she began wishing with a desperate desire that if she just had her hands free she'd snap all the motherfuckers' necks in two.

The ball gag was replaced and the ritual continued. Sometimes she was asked to go through the series of poses she had learned, presumably so her goods could be checked out. With every passing moment she wasn't sure if she would be able to get through it without freaking out and trying to run, taking down as many as she could. But she already tried that when she was first abducted, didn't she? She was sure the bruises were still visible all over her body. She wondered if this made her more or less attractive to "buyers." More of the "Hey look, she can take a beating," or "She's trouble and will need to be beaten regularly, sort of thing. Whatever it was, it was making her sick and she was moments from hurling on the next man who stood in front of her and breathed down her neck.

Her stomach flipped and jerked and she felt bile rising in her throat as she fought to contain her panic. Her stomach was going, she was sure of it. She was about to throw up on the man's shoes who was now standing in front of her, suffering consequences that would be severe and maybe even deadly.

She squeezed her eyes shut trying to get control over herself. Then her eyes flew open and she looked down. From the crack in the bottom of the blindfold she saw shoes that looked exactly like Booth's.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Booth looked down dispassionately at his partner, naked and kneeling at his feet. He had a part to play and would play it as best he could, but dammed if he didn't want to slaughter every last person in the castle. Dungeon. Whatever. The whole thing made him homicidal but he was here to get her out, so he'd play the willing buyer of unwilling flesh.

He kept his eyes away from her naked parts and looked instead at her arms and legs. Tilting his head, appraising her bruises, he asked in Arabic, "What happened to her?" He watched her perk up at the sound of his voice but she didn't say anything or indicate she knew it was he. Good. She was not so far gone or desperate enough to risk ruining a rescue mission.

The slick-haired, badly-suited gentleman who was showing Booth the "goods" explained in English about the whore's "feisty" spirit, but that she had been "broken."

"Hm," Booth replied coldly. "Broken how?" He was afraid to ask the question. Anything could have happened to her in the week since she disappeared. He prayed it wasn't what he thought.

"Oh no sir! She has not been a-touched," he wrung his hands nervously, not wishing to upset a potential buyer. "While she is not virgin, she is very tight. I check myself." He leered at Booth and winked, as if they were sharing a delicious secret.

Rage blinded him for a moment. It coursed through his veins with an unmatched velocity as he fought back the urge to kill the guy with a single punch to the throat. He smiled tightly instead and turned back to the kneeling woman. He frowned. "She is beautiful, I'll give you that. How much is she going for?" He turned and put a hand on the salesman's back, steering him out of the room.

He lowered his chin, glowering at Booth and didn't move. "You don't want to inspect her?" His voice held a hint of suspicion; quickly replacing the sugar-sweet lacing his voice brandished before. Booth knew from the moment he arrived, the man was wary of him. No one trusted Americans. Except, it seemed, for Americans with sadistic tastes and deep pockets.

Booth sighed loudly, acting put out. "Alright. Let's see what she's got." He folded his arms in front of him and pursed his lips, annoyed.

"This position is called the "resting" position." He pointed to Brennan kneeling, sitting on her feet, her arms clasped behind her, head bowed.

The handler gave a jerk to the chain attached to Brennan's collar and barked out a coarse command in an unknown language. Brennan seemed to recognize it though, and sat up on her knees and spread them as far as she could, arching her back and jutting her breasts out. Her hair cascaded down her back in luscious waves that almost reached her waist.

"We call this the "ready" position, because as you can see, she would be ready for just about anything." He gave a creepy high laugh and wiped his face with a dirty handkerchief.

Booth swallowed, transfixed by the display. She was so gorgeous, so much like a goddess rising up from an ocean wave, he almost forgot where they were and what she was enduring. On her knees with her legs spread she was the picture of submission. She really did look ready for anything. He shut his eyes quickly and looked away. It was wrong to look at her like that. He needed to focus on getting her out.

The handler jerked Bones to her feet. She stood, hands tied behind her back with her legs spread in what he learned was the attention stance. The first thing he noticed was that she was shaved. The long planes of her stomach stretched all the way to her nether regions, her mons and the outer lips of her pussy exposed and slick. Had she been oiled up?

Her breasts, which he knew were full and soft (the two times he leaned into them) had nipples that seemed to turn tight and hard at his gaze. His pants felt uncomfortably tight and he knew he shouldn't be looking at her like this, he should be looking elsewhere, faking interest, but she was just so much more beautiful than he had ever dreamed. The palms of his hands itched to cup one of her breasts, to roll a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He shook himself from his reverie and walked around her, admiring her firm ass.

"She will spread for you."

The upper part of her body was pushed over roughly and suddenly there were all of Temperance Brennan's goods for Booth to see. Brennan burned with humiliation and was glad her hair covered her face. It was one thing to be ogled and felt up by kidnappers and perverts whom she had never seen before and didn't know. It was entirely another thing to have someone she knew as a friend, confidante, and almost lover look at her spread and ready to be fucked. How could she ever look him in the eye again?

She became aware, however, as his gaze traveled over her, parts of her were starting to spark to life. Just the thought that he was standing behind her and looking at her like this was making her pussy tingle and throb, making her knees turn to jelly. She felt a wetness soaking her thighs and wished desperately there was a way to hide her desire from him.

Booth stood behind her for a long time, surveying his partner's long legs and pert ass. He wondered what he was supposed to do in this situation. Take her temperature? She seemed to be wet and swollen, ready for sex. Must be the oil, he thought. He leaned in and with a finger trailed a pattern in the moisture on her inner thigh, watching with awe as goosebumps rose up in its wake. He stood up abruptly. The desire to bury his face in her succulent pussy was almost impossible to stop. He needed to get away from her, and now.

"She can stand up," he said to the handler. "I've seen all I need to," he said airily, heading for the door. "Tell me, do you have any blondes?"

The men walked out, the slimy salesman throwing an arm over Booth shoulder laughing. "I like the blondes too. The young ones."

As soon as they left, Brennan returned to her knees and dropped her head in shame. Oh God, she thought, Booth just saw me naked. All of me! Her next thought was, he's here to save me! But a piercing stab of jealousy followed it closely.

"Blondes?"

**&%$9%$**

Brennan heard a gong indicating it was ten o'clock. She was taken from the room she was in, up a flight of stairs to a larger space, where she could hear people moving about but trying not to make any noise. Then she heard an announcer call out something in Arabic and heard a smattering of applause. Of course. She was backstage. The bidding began and she recognized the call of an auctioneer that was as familiar in Arabic as English. So this is it, she thought, her breasts heaving as she hyperventilated. Booth could easily lose me to some Middle Eastern or European fathead with deep pockets. She knew there wasn't a God, but she prayed anyway. She'd even pray to Booth's God if it would help.

Suddenly she found herself pushed onto the stage by the handler. He ripped off the blindfold but instead of pushing her to kneel as he normally did, he paraded her around like a show pony. It was difficult to adjust to life without the blindfold and she struggled to not fall down. Her cheeks burned with rage and shame and for the fiftieth time that day she wished them all dead.

The handler walked her twice around the stage, smacking her on the ass with a riding crop if she stumbled or slowed down. She went through her serious of poses, only this time is was even more humiliating as she could see the disgusting leers on the faces of the audience members. Even worse, were the ones whose expressions betrayed nothing human. Those were the real sadists. Those were the men she was deathly afraid of.

She ended the humiliating ordeal by facing the back wall and bending over, spreading her legs. The handler pulled one cheek apart so everyone could get a better look at her plump and oiled pussy.

Booth sat in the audience towards the back making it look like he was interested in what was going on, but letting his eyes unfocus and stare blankly. If he looked at her, paid attention to what she was going through, he'd blow his cover, snapping the necks of as many dirt bags as he could as he tried to get to her. He sighed and propped his feet up on the back of the seat in front of him, trying to look bored and worldly. He looked around. The theater was an aging Broadway-type house with tattered maroon velvet seats and a crumbling facade. He wondered who built it in the middle of a medieval castle in a North African country. An eccentric wealthy deviant, that's who.

His attention turned back to the stage. He had to win her that was for sure. With Jack's money he knew he had a sporting chance. Thank God for good friends who were filthy rich. Booth shuddered to think of what might have happened to her if he didn't have those resources at his disposal. He knew he would have come after her anyway, getting himself killed, and probably her as well.

He sighed with relief when she was allowed to kneel in the resting position again. He saw her continue to squint into the lights, hoping, he supposed, to see him and know she was safe. He wished he could give her that assurance.

The bidding started high. American women were seen as the ultimate prize, one can only assume the enslavement of one gave it a Death-to-America bonus. Booth held back at first assuming if he was too eager, suspicion would be aroused. He had bid on several women before her, making sure to lose out at the last minute. He wished he could save them all, but he was here for his partner.

He regarded Bones sitting on the stage, arms bound behind her so that it pushed out her chest. If only she wasn't so beautiful and desirable, he thought, this would be so much easier. But seeing her so naked and vulnerable was causing him to get painfully hard, and he was embarrassed and ashamed by it. He told himself it was just her, Temperance, the woman he once thought he loved, naked before him. But it made him uncomfortable beyond just the horror of the situation unfolding before them. He wanted her, and he wanted her on her knees.

He turned his attention back to the bidding. Two men were beginning a bidding war over her, one was white, tall and pale with a snooty turned up nose, and the other was an African man flanked on two sides by women who were presumably slaves or wives. Big beefy bodyguards surrounded him in front and back. He was probably a warlord of some sort. The white guy looked like a butler. Probably purchasing girls for someone powerful in America or England.

He joined the bidding and felt every head turn his way. He kept his face impassive as he had with all the girls he'd bid on. He took out his phone and scrolled through his contacts trying to look preoccupied. Occasionally he would raise his head and with a nod raise the bid.

The bidding escalated. Warlord guy threw in the towel, but butler guy, not sparing a glance at Booth raised the stakes considerably. So much so that Booth felt like it was going to be highly suspicious if he did as well. He brought his phone up to his ear and nodded like he'd just been given the go-ahead.

He named a figure three times the amount. A hush fell over the crowd as all heads turned to look at him, then, in unison, at the butler, who threw his nose further into the air and sniffed condescendingly.

The bidding was closed. Booth had bought Bones.

**&9%%**

**Author's note:** Please review. Even if you say things like "This is the best thing since Hamlet!" or "If you keep writing I'm going to kill myself." Any feedback (read: praise) is appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: ….aaaannnnddd now it's SMUT time!

**Chapter 3**

Booth waited in the "gentlemen's lounge" as the girls were brought in to meet their new masters. He lit a cigar that was offered to him and settled into the leather winged-backed chair and watched the girls arrive. As they entered they kept their eyes downcast and their hands clasped behind their backs. This caused their chests to stick out and their breasts bobbed softly as they walked. Booth noted that none of the women were restrained in any way. He thought it was a good thing till he realized the girls needed to be free to perform any services requested.

He looked around, with feigned disinterest at the scene surrounding him. It was like something out of Caligula's Rome. Low slung sofas hugged the stonewalls and were occupied by men of all ages, shapes, colors, and sizes fucking women, all young, beautiful and broken-looking. An area in the rear boasted several sawhorses, all of them with young women slung over, tied and gagged, being whipped or fucked. Next to it stood a tall concrete wall with manacles and chains hanging empty. The area where Booth was sitting was more sedate in its sexual activities, it appeared to be exclusively blowjobs or young women sitting patiently at their master's feet as they read the paper or conversed with other gentlemen. It all reeked with false civility, like Masterpiece Theater for perverts.

Booth stilled his foot from tapping. He was impatient for Bones to arrive so he could get the hell out. The next time he looked back toward the entrance, he scowled. An obese man in the frayed red velvet smoking jacket was headed his way, his hand outstretched.

"Mr. X.," the large man said in a low tone, clasping Booth's hand firmly in his. "I trust you are enjoying yourself?" All of the clients were assigned a letter of the alphabet to preserve anonymity. Booth hoped there weren't so many buyers that they had filled out letters A-W.

Booth rose and smiled at the man with what he hoped looked like a genuine smile. "Luigi!" he said brightly, pumping his hand, acting as if the man was his long lost best friend. "You had some fine specimens for sale today. I have no complaints."

"Yes, yes," he gestured around the room, "Many, many happy men here tonight. You have purchased someone, no? The American woman?" He put one hand in his front pocket and one on his pipe that was dangling from his mouth. He almost looked as if he might hand Booth a snifter of brandy and beg to discuss how inferior American poetry is.

"Yes," Booth smiled slyly. "There is nothing I like more than bringing rich, privileged, white women down several notches, if you know what I mean." He added with a conspiratorial tone, "And American girls are wild about sex, you know that, right? I love it when they get off on all the abuse."

Luigi beamed as if this was the best piece of news he had received all day. He looked up. "Oh, there she is coming now. But I wanted to ask you, why only one girl? Most of the men are picking up two or three extra, just in case."

Booth wasn't sure he wanted to know what would constitute the use of an "extra" woman and he didn't ask. "I'm too busy to deal with more than one, Luigi. I'm sure you can appreciate the upkeep and time it takes to feed, clothe, etc."

"That's why you should keep them naked at all times," he said off-handedly. He looked over Booth's shoulder, smiling. "Ah, here she is. Your American woman."

Booth turned to watch Bones approach him, her eyes downcast but her strong chin held high. She moved gracefully towards him, his sea goddess who moved as well on land as in the water. She stopped before him and chanced a glance up at him, her electric blue eyes locking with his for a moment. She dropped her eyes just as quickly, afraid the gaze might draw a punishment from the thugs around her.

Booth lifted her chin with one finger. "Look at me." His voice was as icy and emotionless as his eyes. "Never, ever look me in the eyes again unless I tell you to. Not unless you'd like to find yourself sold to another, less benevolent master. Do you understand?"

Dropping her eyes, she nodded, the tears in her eyes dripping from her cheeks to the floor.

"Kneel," he said quietly and watched her drop and assume the resting position. "Spread your legs." She obeyed, moving fluidly to the ready position, placing her hands on her thighs and thrusting her breasts out.

"She is very beautiful," Luigi added, his cold eyes appraising her body. "I don't suppose you would give me a taste, would you?"

Booth felt Bones tense but not look up. He looked at the other man blandly as if he merely asked to use his lawn mower. "Sorry. I don't share. Not yet, anyway. Like to break them in my way first." He added, "I think I am ready to leave, Luigi, if you would be so kind to call the valet. I'm anxious to get back to my yacht. I have meetings first thing in the morning and would like to, um, break my little princess in first." He stroked Brennan's hair softly.

"No problem, Mr. X. But first I think I would like to see your new acquisition in action. I'm interested to see how she fucks compared to the rest of the slaves. Being American and all." Luigi's piggy eyes danced with mirth.

Booth rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Luigi? I don't have time for this." Booth chuckled and started to move towards the exit when he felt Luigi's hand on his arm again.

"No, Mr. X. I insist." His eyes were serious with warning as they darted into the corners of the room where large goon-like men stood with sub-machine guns. Booth followed his eyes then moved them back to Luigi.

He shrugged. "I'm not much for public displays of affection. By-product of a good upbringing, I suppose. I guess I can make an exception just this once." He felt Bones freeze next to him, and he wished there was another way to get out of this, but there wasn't.

He stroked her hair for a moment and then lifted her chin. "Look at me." God, her eyes were so blue and trusting. He couldn't believe what he was about to do to her. "Are you a good little slut Jane?" This was something he learned when he arrived; half of the girls were named Jane, the other half Britney. It took away the girls identities and prepared them to be slaves and sexual toys.

Brennan nodded, her eyes wide and frightened. She trusted Booth with her life, but she had the feeling he was about to do something very bad to her.

"Would you like to suck my cock, Jane? Show all these men what a good little whore you are?"

Brennan paused for a fraction of a second. She was acutely aware of all the men around who were witnessing the transaction. Heads craned around high-backed chairs interrupting the young women perched in their laps or servicing them with their mouths. Everyone was waiting to see if the American woman would serve her new Master, or if she would refuse and be thrashed within an inch of her life.

Her eyes focused on Booth again and she nodded. She hoped to see a hint of warmth in his eyes, but they betrayed nothing. She clinched and unclinched her hands trying to keep them from shaking.

"Come here girl," he whispered and sitting in a wing-backed chair, guided her to kneel between his legs. He spread his legs so she could get as close as possible to his crotch. He reached for the ring on her collar and pulled her even closer. "Unzip."

She reached for the zipper on his pants and without knowing, licked her lips. Booth, who thought he might have performance problems, grew instantly hard. She pulled out his cock with shaky hands and gasped softly at the size of it. He was definitely bigger than any of the men she had been with before. It was thick and long with a large vein running down the underside. In another situation, she might have started salivating at the sight of it, it could be called that beautiful. She felt the men staring at her and thought she needed to begin. She started at the root, lathing her tongue from the base to the bell tip, closing her mouth over the top and sucking gently. Her eyes closed on their own accord. She didn't want him to see how much she was enjoying it, because despite her horror over the situation, her body was starting to betray her. She felt her pussy pulse and grow wet and swollen and felt her nipples harden as she took him further into her mouth.

"Look at me," he commanded, and she raised her eyes to look into his stormy brown ones. The outside world ceased to exist as she worshiped his cock, her eyes never leaving his. She could dimly hear other male voices in the background but she tuned them out. All she wanted was to please him. He scooted down further in the seat and grabbed the base of his cock and guided her mouth down to the root. "That's it Jane. Suck the whole thing up." He was aware that he was being watched by over a dozen sets of eyes in the room so he wanted the performance to be good. It didn't hurt, of course, that she was pretty amazing at it. She had no problem loosening her jaw to allow him to deep throat her and as she moaned around him, the vibrations caused him to groan and push in further She was a better actress than he imagined because she really seemed into it. Her gaze never left his as she sucked him into oblivion. He closed his eyes and let his head drop on the back of the chair, letting the sensations wash over him.

The build started slowly. It pulsed from the tip of his cock to his balls she was cupping all the way through his hips and his upper body and then blasting through the top of his skull. He sat up and grabbing her by the hair thrust deeply in and out of her mouth, acting as if he didn't care if she choked or not but being sure she didn't.

"I'm gonna come little whore. Are you ready to swallow it all?" She looked up at him, mouth full of his cock and nodded, the need in her eyes naked and raw. "You know what's going to happen later? he said thrusting himself mercilessly into her throat, "You're going to beg for me to stop beating you. You're going to beg for mercy. And you're going to beg to come." He pumped into her face faster and faster, his eyes locked on hers. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking but the way her eyes occasionally opened and closed slowly made him think she was enjoying it. Her hands moved between his legs and she thrust her pinky finger into the puckered hole. Holding her head, he roared and shot rivers of come down her throat that she swallowed without complaint. He pulled out at the end so the last bit landed on her lips. Before she could stop herself her tongue darted out to lick it up. She felt his body shudder as she pumped his cock for the last pearls of liquid.

With a deep intake of air he pulled his cock away from her grasp suddenly and smirked. "I think you enjoyed that a little too much." He laughed at her, his eyes cruel. "I guess American girls really are as slutty as they say they are. Don't you think so Luigi?" Not waiting for the man's reply he turned back to her and added, "And don't think I didn't notice how you hesitated to blow me. As far as I'm concerned, you should offer it every time you see me. You see me, you drop to your knees and open your mouth. You'll learn, but you will be punished." He meant to make this speech the excuse for taking her upstairs and beating her.

Luigi though, snapped his fingers and two of the goons appeared and picked up Brennan under the arms and carted her off. "Yes Mr. X. I completely agree. And that is why she must be punished immediately. If you will accompany me." He stood and gestured towards the bondage area.

"Really, Luigi, I think I can discipline her in private. Can you please return her to me?" He straightened his cuffs and resisted the urge to run a ragged hand through his hair. This was not going well.

Luigi took his arm and led him patiently to the other side of the room to the bondage area. "I need to be sure, Mr. X, that you will treat my whores properly. They need a heavy hand. I can't have the masters growing soft or letting the girls free, can I?"

Booth, dumbfounded, nodded his head. Here was another predicament he could not escape from. He was going to have to punish Bones.

AN: Be sure to review. I live for them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

With heavy feet, Booth ambled after them. There was such a rush of emotions and circumstances, he could hardly keep his head from spinning off his body. First, there was the mind-blowing blowjob Bones just gave him. And then there was his behavior during said blowjob. What on earth came over him to treat her like that? Of course, he had to, but not necessarily with the gusto with which he did. But all he could see was this beautiful, fuckable woman before him, a woman he had wanted to bed since the first moment he'd laid eyes on her, at his feet, worshiping him. Possessing and owning her in that moment was the only thing that mattered.

He straightened his posture and looking up ahead saw Bones already chained by wrists and ankles to the concrete wall. Her head was turned to the side and her hair hung down in rivers over her face. Good. He was glad she couldn't see him. He felt himself grow hard seeing her spread-eagle with her body open and available to him again. His heart wrenched and his conscious struggled with itself. This had to be pure humiliation for her and here he was with his second hard-on of the night.

He looked around. This was the only part of the room that looked anything like the dungeons he had first seen her in and not like a stuffy old boys' club. Sparse, dark, and confined, it seemed to mirror the dark souls that enslaved the women. Booth saw numerous torture devices, most of them sexual in nature, but not all. There were padded sawhorses, cages, and pedestals with giant dildos on them as well as something he was pretty sure was a rack. He suppressed a shudder. He guessed she was lucky they strapped her in for a regular old beating rather than put her on that monstrosity. Booth perused the spanking implements and chose a short brown riding crop from the half dozen or so laid out. It seemed like it might do the least amount of damage. Then he turned slowly to Bones, outwardly trying to project the bullshit machismo like the rest of the men looking on but inwardly trying to warn her telepathically about what was coming.

Brennan felt his eyes on her as she tried to convince her body not to betray her again. Because the moment she saw him through the curtain of her hair, moving toward her like a predator, she felt her sex throb and her hips twitch, desperate for contact. The blowjob had left her aching for something, some kind of release, some kind of explosion. The fear of being whipped was being muddled in her mind with the desire for him to fuck her so hard she screamed or passed out. Or both.

At the same time, her stomach roiled. She wasn't supposed to enjoy this. One, it was her partner, the same one whose eyes she would be staring into on a daily basis, if they got out of here alive. Two, she was about to be beaten and humiliated in front of a dozen horny, creepy men. What if the beating only riled them up and they raped her for real? And three, what if she liked what he did to her? She closed her eyes and breathed, trying to resign herself to live through all of the humiliations and hope like hell for the best.

Booth snapped the riding crop into his palm as he walked around her, seemingly appraising her body, but in reality working up the courage to hit her. His partner. The very same partner that just gave him the best blowjob of his life. He stopped and stood directly behind her. "Do you want me to beat you Jane?" His voice was low and dangerous.

Her reply was unintelligible. He moved closer to her and pressed the whole of his body against her back. She could feel the hardness of his cock between the cleft of her ass and she drew in a sharp breath as desire flooded her body. He repeated the question. Through the curtain of her hair she said softly, "It's ok Booth. Do it." Louder she said "Yes, sir."

"Yes sir, please beat me," he said flatly.

Her voice trembled. "Please sir, please beat me."

He swallowed hard and stood back. "You're racking up the punishments Jane," he said in a mocking tone. He brought the switch down hard on her buttocks, making a welt that rose immediately. He heard her cry out and suppressed a cringe. This had to be believable. "First you hesitate to serve me when you should be begging to suck my cock every time you see me." He struck her again across the lower back and felt her buckle under the pain. "And now your replies are inadequate. I think that's worth at least eight lashings, don't you think so Jane?"

This time she didn't hesitate in saying loud and clear, "Yes Sir."

"Of course the two you had don't count," he said cruelly. He heard some chuckling behind him and felt a rush of satisfaction. They were buying it.

He tucked the riding crop under his arm and placing his hands on her hips, pulling them away from the cross causing her ass to stick out invitingly. He could see a hint of her pussy peeking out. He turned away before he looked hard enough to see if she was wet. Instead, he gave her ass a condescending little pat and moved back into position.

Without another word he delivered, with full force, the first two of the lashes. He felt her body tremble and convulse each time the tip hit her flesh. By the third time, she cried out for him to stop. She choked back sobs, her chest heaving and her lips blubbering like a wailing child.

Yet the lower half of her body wasn't sending the same messages. Her hips were thrusting toward him rhythmically, her legs opening and closing on each pulse. She continued to cry out with each blow, but now Booth thought something else was being expressed, something more primal, as if this was giving her something she needed deep down. Booth rolled his eyes, disgusted with himself for the thought. That's ridiculous.

In between the next lashes he touched her all over, running his hands roughly up her legs and her back to cup her shoulders. He caressed the welts on her ass smiling as he heard her hiss in pain. Pulling her as far off the wall as he could, he roughly mauled her breasts, twisting her nipples like taffy under his fingers until she whimpered. He trailed soft kisses up her neck but then bit her shoulder so violently he almost broke the skin, but instead left an ugly red mark. She shrieked, but he also saw her skin prickle with goosebumps.

He wanted her, his cock was screaming for him to take her right then and there. It would be so wrong he wouldn't be able to forgive himself. He stood back and gripped the riding crop tighter.

After the next blow, when he saw her arch provocatively, thrusting her ass higher into the air, his mind was gone, lost in a haze of lust and sexual torment. He whipped her harder, taking out his frustration on her vulnerable backside. His fingers skated lightly around her hips, past her belly, dipping two fingers into her pussy. It was swollen and soaking. He shuddered against her and ground his throbbing cock into her backside. She thrust her ass back wildly into his erection, wanting the friction as much as he did. Withdrawing his fingers, he grabbed her hair and forced her head back, thrusting his sticky fingers into her mouth. Eyes closed, she moaned and sucked on them with abandon. He almost came in his pants like a teenage boy. The urge to shove his cock deep in her was overcoming all rationale. Like her, he had become a primal beast thinking only in simple absolutes: woman is hot and wet. Take her.

"Please Master," she whispered, as he ground into her. Her voice was low and he wondered why she would use the word 'Master' if no one could hear her. He knew, though, she wasn't saying 'please stop'; he could see that by the look of longing in her eyes and the thrust of her hips. She wanted him. She wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her.

He didn't care about the audience anymore. He wanted to be inside her. He quickly unzipped his pants, letting them fall to his knees. With a sigh he sunk slowly into her blazingly hot pussy that closed around him like a vice. As he bottomed out, he heard her moan and could feel the vibrations running from her sex throughout her whole body. He dropped the crop and pulling all the way out, bucked back in with as much force as he could muster.

Brennan screamed and shut her eyes, trying to block out the audience and focusing only on the man behind her. She shivered as his hands roamed up her back to bury themselves in her hair, brutally yanking it back. She arched into him as he gripped her hips trying to pull her even closer to him. And his cock. His big cock stroked in and out of her like a match, her pussy bursting into flames.

"So good. So tight," he whispered softly so no one could hear them.

At that she came completely undone and stifling a cry, convulsed on him, her pussy gushing nectar. Their bodies, now vibrating together made a humming sound only they could hear. He was close behind, holding onto her ass, pulling apart the cheeks to expose her completely to him. His eyes rolled back in his head as he savored the brilliant light that burst within him as he emptied himself into her womb. The only thought that kept repeating itself was a mantra: "Mine."

He slowed his thrusts, feeling their co-mingled juices escape from her body and run down their legs. He closed his eyes, not willing to leave her yet and face the horrifying fact that he just fucked her in front of 20 people. He cracked his eyes open slightly and the shame was compounded by the sight of a dozen red welts adorning her backside and buttocks. She'd be lucky if she could sit down for a week.

Gathering himself together he gave her a hard smack on the ass and heard her wince. "Just like I thought it'd be. A great ride." He straightened himself up and turned to Luigi. "You were right, I'm glad I tried her out now. I can see she is going to need a lot more discipline. She seems to come at the drop of a hat. I'm thinking a small cage and a chastity belt. What do you think?" How did he know this stuff? He must have subconsciously picked it up from conversations overheard in the lounge area. He unfastened the cuffs holding her to the wall and let her fall unceremoniously to the ground. He hated to do it, but he had to appear heartless.

"I must say, Mr. X, that looked a lot more like how I make love to my wife than how I punish and fuck my slaves." For a moment Booth froze, certain the man was about to expose him. "But you said she was an American whore so I'm not surprised she orgasmed so readily. I would definitely recommend caging, but maybe you should get it out of her system in a more, um, organic way." Luigi's eyes were greedy as he looked from Booth to Brennan. "Perhaps me and some of my men could help you tame her. I think a fucking by 8 or 10 of my men would make her quite obedient."

Booth stomach rolled and with hard eyes he looked at the fat man. "No one touches her Luigi. No one. She is my whore." Then he laughed good-naturedly. "Of course she'll be passed around freely to my men, when I'm tired of her, but for now, she's mine. " He knew he was going for broke now, his display of machismo would probably get them killed. However, he'd rather both of them die than let anyone else touch her.

Luigi's eyes grew wide and horrified. "Oh, Mr. X, I did not mean to imply anything. It is common for owners to keep their slaves for their own use, for a time. If, however, you grow tired of her, please send her back. I'm sure," he smiled showing all of his good teeth, "we can make use of her." On the floor, Brennan shuddered, but kept her gaze downcast.

Booth noticed Bones' handler standing nearby and was about to ask him to clean her up and get her ready to leave when he heard a gong.

"Dinner is ready sir," Luigi said, smiling blandly. "Shall I have your slave cleaned up and taken to your table?"

His heart fell. Would he ever be able to get them out of here? "I'm not very hungry."

"Nonsense." Luigi said good-naturedly, as if he were inviting Booth to a special holiday meal. "Please come with me and I'll be sure your slave is brought to you directly."

With no choice in the matter he parted from Bones, throwing a glance over his shoulder to watch the handler help her up, thankfully with gentle hands. She seemed to be having a hard time walking and was leaning heavily on his arm. Booth, his face burning, turned his gaze forward, following the other men to the dining hall. He did that to her. He was the reason she couldn't walk and probably wouldn't be able to sit down for a week. Him. The man who had come to save her was now an accomplice in her undoing. He felt immense shame, more than any he had felt at any other time of his life, even during his time as a sniper. But, if he was brutally truthful with himself, he had felt something else. He had felt immense desire as well. He knew he was just playing a part, which if he had his way, he'd pull out all the girls and torch the whole castle with everyone in it, but he enjoyed whipping her just a little too much, didn't he? And just the thought of seeing her again in a few minutes, naked and at his feet, was making his dick hard.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

**AN**: Please review or drop me a line to say hi. Or even "hey, bitch, finish the story already."


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's note: Yeah, it took me forever to get this up. But I warned you, didn't I?_

**Chapter 5**

The table was long and medieval-looking with rough wide planks held together by worn wood joints. While impressive in breadth it was barely level enough to balance a glass and everything on the table looked in danger of sliding to the floor. It wrapped around in a square, filling the whole space and in the middle was a trio of belly dancers, dressed surprisingly modest. Perhaps the talent wasn't subjected to the same horrors as the girls.

The banquet appeared to be from another age as well, sides of lamb dressed with roasted vegetables, succulent pies and tarts and platters piled high with olives and pickled delicacies. Booth was surprised to see utensils. It could have very well been an eat-with-your-hands buffet. Or maybe he was assuming the men's eating habits were as base as their sexual ones.

Anyway, he wasn't interested in the food or the atmosphere. He wanted Bones. He kept stealing furtive glances to the door hoping she would appear, but it seemed to be taking longer than it took the other women to arrive. And that's probably because you flayed her alive, he thought to himself, frowning, the pit of disgust in his stomach growing with each minute she didn't appear.

Diverting himself, he struck up a conversation with the elderly gentlemen sitting next to him. He had two very young naked blondes at his feet, whom he kept beaming at every few moments like a proud father, or in this case, grandfather. Except it was a smile less like pride and more like a predator playing with his food. He was surprisingly friendly, but spoke very little English. Booth's Russian was rusty, but he gathered from the conversation that the man was a diplomat and intended to keep the girls on his Caribbean island. For all the creepiness of it, it looked like the girls wouldn't be beaten or physically harmed. He sighed. No, not harmed, but captured and kept like an animal at the sexual whim of a geriatric egomaniac. Yeah, that was so much better.

Sadly it was. Surveying the room it looked as if the majority of the women wouldn't fare so well.

He sensed a shift of pressure in the room and knew that Bones had arrived. Whereas the other girls tried to look small and unnoticeable, Bones was tall and curvy and had a tremendous presence that he had never noticed before. Every person in the room reacted in some way to her arrival.

She kept her gaze down as she walked to him. She knew that even her new "Master" couldn't prevent a beating over the insolence of direct eye contact, which was expressly forbidden and harshly punished. She tried to look at the scene around her, but all she saw were the faces of the other slaves, looking up at her from the floor as she passed. Some of the gazes were angry or jealous, some were shy or sympathetic and some were vacant and staring as if the woman who was once there didn't live behind those eyes anymore. It made Brennan shudder, a chill creeping into her skin although the room was already too warm. She pulled her gaze to the floor and followed her handler to Booth.

She was brought to him and took her place on the floor next to his feet. He petted her head and told her to make herself comfortable, which she did, sitting on her feet to the side instead of kneeling uncomfortably on her knees. Many of the other girls were not so lucky to receive such benevolent masters. Several girls were hog-tied, their nether regions exposed to snickers and ridicule and the occasional end of a cane. Many of the girls were bound and gagged, others caged like animals. Booth wondered if he was being too lenient with Bones, but decided to risk it. He could always ratchet it up a notch if he detected suspicion.

He continued chatting with the man next to him as the meal commenced, but kept a hand on her at all times. At first he just wanted to make her feel safe, but his touches grew bolder as dinner went on. He stroked her hair, her neck, the slope of her shoulders and back. He ran a finger along her bottom lip and nearly moaned when she opened her mouth and took it in, sucking lightly.

He withdrew his finger and placed it under her chin, tilting her head up to him. Her eyes were stormy and half-lidded. He studied her closely. Was she as turned on as he was, or was she playing her role as masterly as a well-seasoned Broadway actress? Only one way to find out. He leaned forward and cupped her pussy. He could feel the heat as his fingers ran along her slick slit. Oh, she was definitely turned on.

She trembled, her hips twitching, as she felt his fingers dip inside her swollen pussy. She knew one thing. It had never been this way before with any other man. Such wanting. Such a gush the moment he touched her. A longing like she'd never known. Like if she couldn't be near him, have him inside her, right now God-dammit, she'd die. Right now she couldn't think about what it meant, or about where they were. She was on full lust autopilot. Eyes on his, she ran a hand up his leg to cup his hard-on which strained and throbbed beneath her fingers. He removed her hand and placed it on his thigh, patting it gently. "Now, now, Jane," he whispered, "unless you want to end up bouncing on my lap like grandpa over there, you'll behave." Their eyes both trailed to the older man who had one of the blondes straddling him, her hand reaching behind her back to guide his half-hard wrinkled cock into her young and plump pussy. The other slave sat to the side looking bored.

Booth shuddered and turned away, disgusted by the display. He whispered to her, "The fuck-head's gotta have 40 years on her."

Turning his attention back to Bones he found he could not take his hands off her. He stroked her breasts then ran a palm down the gently rounded plains of her stomach. With each touch he felt her leaning closer to him. He could hear her breath becoming soft pants.

He looked around, hoping their time for escape was nearing. Apparently, however, post main course was prime time for sex, as men all over were being serviced by their slaves. Booth kept them both occupied for a while by hand-feeding her from the table as she knelt between his legs. It was very sexy, he thought, the way she bit into a luscious strawberry, or the way she lapped up chocolate from his fingers. But there was no putting off the inevitable. It was going to appear very suspicious if they did not engage in some kind of sexual contact soon.

Booth leaned down to Bones. "Ladies' choice," he murmured, knowing she would know what he meant.

Brennan looked up at him shyly. "Can I sit on your lap?"

He decided the answer to that question was always going to be yes. The asking of it made him painfully hard and his desire for her was, once again, pushing all thoughts of propriety out of his head. He helped her up to his lap where she sat sideways, his clothed erection poking between her thighs. He wanted to kiss her, his eyes were drawn to her lips, but he knew he couldn't risk it. If there was one thing he hadn't seen since he got here it was a kiss between a Master and a slave. His hand moved to a breast instead, cupping it gently, his fingers circling around the hard nub. Electric shocks radiated through her and made her pussy throb. His other hand swept up her back forgetting the welts he had just made. She hissed in pain and arched away from his hand. He held her steady with a firm hand on her thigh and the other buried in her hair. His hand inched forward to the caress her inner thigh then ran a finger along her slit, bringing his fingers up to his mouth. His eyes fell shut as he tasted her ambrosia.

Brennan couldn't take her eyes off Booth's lips as he tasted her. She wondered what his kisses tasted like. She had swallowed his come and had his jism lodged up deep into her cervix, but hadn't kissed him since that night oh so long ago. She didn't know if he tasted like the gum he always chewed, or pie or coffee. His hard-on digging into her thighs was driving her mad, she knew she was only minutes from straddling him and impaling herself on him. So what was she waiting for? A kiss? A kiss she wasn't going to get? She arched into his hand, grinding herself into his lap with abandon. She wanted him so much. There was no more pretending.

Booth seemed to read her mind and swung one of her legs over and unzipped his pants. She grasped his cock and began to stroke it up and down, watching with awe as Booth's head fell to the back of the chair, his eyes closing. She sat up on her knees and sank down on him, using his shoulders for support. His hands magnetized to her ass, moving her up and down, grinding her down to the very root and lifting her up to the tip before dropping her down again. Their foreheads touched and they fought the almost overwhelming desire to kiss, to fuse their mouths together. They knew they were being watched, knew their lives depended on their performance being believable enough to get them out of here, but for that moment, they were the only two who existed in the room. Instead of kissing her, he wrapped a hand in her long hair and pulled her head back roughly. Her pussy spasmed around him and he swelled within her.

He moved a hand around in front to finger her swollen clit but she shook her head. She didn't need it, she was writhing on his cock, her pace becoming furious, but trying to hide the fact that she was coming. He couldn't take his eyes off her, watching her eyelashes flutter and her mouth form a perfect small O as she peaked. He felt his cock drenched in her juices and he renewed his thrusts into her as he felt her recover. "I'm close," he grunted, his eyes glued to her breasts bouncing in his face. He latched onto one nipple and sucked hard. He felt her climax again suddenly, the pleasure rolling off her in thundering, uncontrollable waves that threatened to take him under.

"Shove me off and come in my mouth," she whispered close to his ear as she calmed her rhythm.

He shook his head. He didn't want to, he wanted to come deep inside her, fill her up again with his come. Make her so full of his juices that they would drip down her legs for the rest of the night. But after a few violent thrusts he pushed her off, and grabbing her by the neck forced his cock deep into her throat. He closed his eyes and imagined her face when she was coming on top of him, the look of pure ecstasy written all over her features. That did it for him and he exploded into her mouth, holding her head and pumping away madly. She swallowed it all like a good little slave and afterwards, when the black spots disappeared from his vision, he saw her smiling up at him brightly.

"Was I a good girl, sir?" Her tongue lapped up the wetness between his legs.

He patted her head, his mouth twitched in a smile as he sought to control his ragged breathing. "Yes, sweet Jane. That was perfectly adequate." The mirth behind his eyes told her it was more than adequate. More like mind-blowing. "But brace yourself for what's next."

Before she knew it he commanded her to kneel, ass in the air, head down by her hands as he finished the meal. It must have been obvious that he had made love to her again and he wanted whoever was watching them to not get the wrong idea. A blatant display of humiliation seemed like the right idea. He joked with Grandpa about their mutual rides and who had the better-looking slave.

Glancing down at her he regretted his decision to not come in her, as seeing the evidence on her thighs would have been highly gratifying. He made do with admiring her beautiful ass and exposed pussy. Fully shaved as she was, nothing was hidden. Her ass was marked pink from the spanking and her pussy was reddish, bruised, but still sweet and slick. He shouldn't be looking at her this way and enjoying himself. But with every fiber of his being he wanted to keep her exactly where she was right now. Possess her. Make her his own. He had moved beyond self-reproach and shame. It took a tremendous amount of willpower to bring his attention back to the real goal: getting out alive.

He stayed as long as he needed to make his hosts feel at home about his intentions towards them and his new slave. He joined the men in the smoking lounge with Brennan walking a respectful 5 steps behind. Luckily there were no more sexual scenes they needed to "stage," and most of the other men had retired to their bedchambers with or without slaves.

Brennan sat at his feet, eyes lowered modestly. She appeared calm, but inside emotions were roiling within her. What was wrong with her? She had undulated on Booth like some kind of garden-variety slut. She should have been ashamed to be tied up and fucked like that in front of a roomful of people. Instead, Booth and his commanding presence had made everything but pleasing him unimportant. The way his eyes looked when he asked for the blowjob, it held so many emotions: sadness, regret, warning, but deep down, lust. A barely concealed, urgent, undeniable spark of lust.

And herself? What was reflected in her eyes? It was a question she didn't have to bother to answer. The same desire and wanting. But with an element thrown in that was foreign to her. Submission. An eagerness to please that only furthered her own desires. She wanted him, even now, sitting against his warm leg watching him from the corner of her eye. If beckoned she would crawl right back on his lap and spread her legs for him. Or lean over the nearest settee. The thoughts disturbed her. They were partners, not lovers. He was not her master, her owner. Why was she acting like it?

Her mind continued reeling. It's just a reaction to the stressful and deadly situation they found themselves in. That was all. Their bodies were reacting the way they needed to. Their lives depended on it.

A shadow crossed her thoughts. So was this real for him? She looked up at him, and he started to smile, then frowned. "Jane, now you know it's not polite for slaves to look their masters in the eye. Expect a punishment later. A severe one." The men sitting around laughed, but thankfully, no one called for a second demonstration of his power over her.

At his words a chill shot through her but it wasn't entirely unpleasant one as she felt her pussy swell and her clit throb. Booth's hand resumed stroking her hair in an attempt to calm her.

At long last Booth felt they could leave. He instructed the handler to prepare Bones for departure and he shook a million hands and promised to come back soon for more slaves. He was sure this was less an invitation for his company and more a desire for the obscene amount of money he had just paid for one girl.

He promised to be back and he would. If not as an agent in a raid then as a lone avenger who would find every one of the men here and make them regret the decision to buy and sell women like faceless transactions of a precious commodity.

$&9#%

_Author's note: Anyone looking for some swashbuckling action as our hero and heroine escape will have to go elsewhere. This is porn, pure and simple._

_Up next: more porny goodness!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's note: This chapter is a little shorter than the others. My apologies. But it just seemed right. More soon_.

**Chapter 6**

He met Bones at the boat launch. As she walked down the dock he noted she was blindfolded, ball-gaged, and still naked, despite the chill of the night. He resisted the urge to cover her with his suit jacket and instead stood stoicly and impatiently at the end of the dock as if he was waiting for an unwelcome guest.

In addition to the standard degradation, her ankles were chained hip-distance apart, making her stride less like walking and more like a humiliating shuffle. Her handler, whom before had seemed almost gentle with her, gripped her arm so firmly it looked as if he was afraid she would get away. That wasn't likely considering how shackled up she was. Shackled like a real slave. My slave, Booth thought shamefully. He picked her up and put her in the boat's cockpit, as climbing on board would be impossible with the leg shackles. Then he let the handler escort her to the Master's quarters, securing her and leaving the gag and blindfold in place, as per Booth's orders. After he returned Booth thanked him with a nice tip and a warm smile and ushered him out as quickly as he could.

Once the yacht finally set sail, he let himself breathe a sigh of relief. Yanking his tie free, he watched the castle and its dark inhabitants fade into the dim horizon. Almost free. He still had the crew to contend with until they hit the target landing, but as long as she stayed in the cabin, she would be safe. He strolled around the deck watching the men work, watching them carefully to see how they behaved knowing a slave was on board. All he needed at this point was a mutiny. The men, however, went on about their duties, as if everyday they transported abducted women across strange seas. And probably they did. They were rowdy bunch but sober. There wouldn't be any trouble with them unless he and Bones blew their cover.

He waited until they were out on the open water and the crew had settled down to play cards before he went below. He turned the knob of the cabin door so quietly, it barely made a sound. Inside, the room was lit with candles, presumably by the handler, who assumed he was setting the mood for another bondage sex scene. He had also laid out an obscene array of parting gifts: a whip, a riding crop, and a ping-pong paddle. His eyes came to rest on Bones, tied up and completely vulnerable. She was arranged spread-eagle on the bed, hands and feet tied to the bedposts, the gag and blindfold firmly in place. His mind quickly flashed through a dozen inappropriate scenarios, but with a flush of shame, he shook himself out of his daydream and moved to untie her.

He ripped the blindfold off and removed the gag. They both began speaking at once.

"Oh, my God Bones, I'm so sorry…"

"Thank you Booth, thank you thank you thank you." Tears were streaming down her face as she strained towards him.

He worked to untie her hands as quickly as he could and they both worked feverishly on getting her feet free. Once she was free, she backed up on the bed away from him, curling her body into a ball.

He froze, unsure of what to do. "Right," he said, getting the picture. "I'll get you something to eat." His gaze shifted to the floor. "And some clothes." He rose from the bed and made his way to the door. She was traumatized. By him. He was a monster.

"No. Wait."

He turned and saw her crawling across the bed to him to clasp his hand in hers. He looked at their intertwined hands first, then to her face. Her expression was unreadable, a coming storm with no discernible direction. He had no idea of what he was supposed to do next, so he remained frozen in place, afraid to move a muscle, half-terrified and half-longing for the storm to come his way.

She pulled herself up on her knees and wound her arms around his neck, pulling him down so his face was even with hers. Her eyes at half-mast, she tilted her head slightly, licking her lips. He felt all of the blood in his body wash up from his feet to pulse into his cock. But he couldn't move first. All that she had been through, he didn't want to assume anything.

She pulled back slightly, opening her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but instead crashed her mouth down on his. His arms immediately enveloped her and held her tight, a vice with no exit point. Her hands came to rest on his chest for a moment, but then began frantically undressing him. Quickly he was as naked as she was, his cock jutting from his body into the softness of her belly. It was his fourth hard-on of the night. He knew he had stamina, but this was unprecedented. He wondered if he could keep it up all night. For her, he probably could. He wanted to give her as much pleasure as the pain he had caused her. His mouth and hands roamed her body desperately, digging into all the soft spots he had learned of that night until she moaned and writhed under his touch. He placed her carefully down on the silk coverlet and kissed his way down her body to her sex. She bucked her hips into his face as he parted the outer lips with his hands and ran his tongue up her slit. She was soaking wet and her juices pooled out onto his tongue. They both groaned in unison as he sucked on her slit and slid a finger halfway into her opening.

"More!" she grunted, forcing herself back into his hand, her hips lifting off the bed.

He unceremoniously shoved two fingers into her depths and pumped madly. Her head began to thrash from side to side on the pillow and her hands gripped the sheet till her knuckles were white. He raised himself up on one hand so he could better see her face that was contorted in pure ecstasy. If he could keep her like that, he would, he thought. Always in the edge of orgasm, always tethered to his hand, his lips, his cock. His brow knit. What is that? he thought. That was Master talk. He shook the thoughts out of his head. He only wanted to please her, and she was obviously pleased if the nectar that as oozing out of her and the way she gyrated on his fingers was any indication.

He waited until he felt her on the edge of being completely undone before he leaned down and sucked her clit roughly into his mouth.

Her wail could be heard for several nautical miles.

He wanted to keep sucking the juice out of her but she grabbed him by the ears and pulled him up and into her. He was even harder than he had been earlier and while she was slippery wet and already thoroughly fucked, he still had to push his way through her tightness to the hilt. As he pulled back out and thrust into her again, they both groaned and looked down at their intertwined and joined bodies. She wrapped her legs around his torso and lifted her ass to get him deeper. His balls slapped rhythmicly against her ass as he pounded into her, fully sheathing himself with every stroke. He caressed her breasts and tugged on her nipples with his teeth. Her fingernails scraped the skin off his back in long thin sheets. They were joined together in the most intimate of ways, but they wanted more. They wanted to meld together or break each other open. If they couldn't be one person, they would destroy each other.

Their coupling became frantic as the noises from their bodies and their throats pierced the thin walls of the cabin. The crewmembers smirked among themselves certain the woman was being punished, as she should be. They laughed when they heard her scream loud and long, and then shout, "Don't stop! Don't stop!"

"Suppose he's fucking her up the ass?" One of them asked the other.

"She's got something up her ass, that's for sure." There was more harsh laughter as their attention turned back to the card game, away from the degradation and humiliation they imagined was happening in the Master's cabin.

Booth collapsed on top of Brennan, his weight heavy on her, but he made no move to shift to the side. She was happy he stayed. He was still inside her body, softer now, but there. She nuzzled her nose into his sweaty neck and inhaled deeply. Her tongue peeked out to taste his sweat. It was sweet. Probably from all the pie he eats, she thought, burrowing herself deeper into his body, latching onto him like she would never let go.

He smiled. "Did you just lick me?" he asked without lifting his head.

"Mmhmm," she murmured, her eyes suddenly too heavy to keep up. She didn't fight it. The day, the week had been too long and horrifying and finally she was safe with Booth. In Booth's arms.

He felt her go slack under him, her arms releasing themselves from his shoulders and slowly drifting to her sides. He slipped out of her and pulled her back into his chest, spooning her. She let out a contented little sigh and snaked her arms and legs around his.

For a very long time he lay there, watching her, noting every movement, every soft noise. He knew sleep was not on his agenda for the night. They were still in danger. Still had far to go. Truthfully, he wouldn't feel safe until they were back in D.C. He could do without sleep, it was one thing the military really taught you, pushing you beyond the barriers of what you thought your body could do.

She shifted in her sleep and he saw her frown. He hoped she wouldn't have nightmares. They would come, he knew from experience, but at least let her have this night to rest.

Settling in, she stilled and he could tell by her eye movement she had moved into REM. Good.

He settled in for a long night. Now all he had to was keep himself from asking all the questions about what had really happened that night. Now all he had to do was avoid asking himself what it really all meant.

_$&9%#_

_Please review. Or at least drop a line to say hi. Or even better, tell me what other Bones FF stories you like. I'm always looking for recommendations. Only a B/B pairing though. I'm a purist. Or sadly limited in my sexual tastes, if not in my perversions._

_Up next: More porn! (and a little angst)_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

_One month later_

Brennan sat at her desk, examining the day's caseload: one mummy recently uncovered in Turkey that appeared from first glance to be approximately 1.6 million years old and half a skeleton from Egypt that had been in storage for close to two years. It had been pulled and fast-tracked as its government was requesting identification. No new murders to solve though, which meant little chance of seeing Booth. She was both relieved and disappointed.

She fiddled with her pen bringing it back and forth from one case to the other as if it really mattered which one she tackled first. Her gaze and thoughts though, were trained elsewhere and far off into the distance and the past. She had successfully fought off thoughts of Booth for weeks now, but one whisper of his name across her consciousness, made him appear whole again.

They hadn't been avoiding each other, per se, and outwardly seemed as friendly as ever, but they avoided any sort of contact, as if one spark from anything even as innocuous as a brushed sleeve might result in engulfing flames. If they entered an elevator together they stood on opposite sides. At the diner they sat diagonal. In the car, she sat in the passenger's seat quietly, only speaking when spoken to. Even Angela noticed the exaggerated distance between them and had asked Brennan about it. She had been prying since she got back, ignoring Booth's suggestion that they leave her alone for a while. Angela wanted to know what happened and she said she would drag it out of Brennan kicking and screaming. Her tactics, usually so successful at gleaning emotional information, weren't working this time. All Angela could gather were the basic facts: Brennan abducted, Brennan sexually abused, Booth rescues Brennan, everybody traumatized but happily ever after anyway. Angela knew it couldn't be that simple, but after a while she gave up, telling Brennan that whenever she wanted to talk, she was available.

The ink from the file had transferred itself to her fingers and she absentmindedly stuck her fingers in her mouth to wet them, then dried them from a tissue plucked from the box on her desk. An image rose of Booth putting his come-soaked fingers in her mouth and her sucking on them sloppily like a kid with a lollipop. The memory assaulted her senses and made her pussy and her whole body clench painfully. She breathed deep, trying to relax, trying to forget.

As well as avoiding physical contact with Booth, she avoided touching herself sexually as well. Whereas in the past she might have masturbated two or three times a week, she didn't dare touch herself down there, except to wash. She told herself it was because of the trauma of being held captive for a week, but really she knew it was because she was more afraid of remembering what had happened with Booth. His touch. His masterful take-over of all her senses. His complete domination of her body. And her total, humiliating surrender to him.

Booth hadn't talked about what happened either. He obviously wanted to forget it. He had done what needed to be done. Nothing more. Yes, he had gotten hard four times in one night (four times!) but it was probably nerves and fear. He knew he had to perform to get them out of there alive. He had made it perfectly obvious he didn't want a repeat.

That all sounded perfectly logical. But what about the last time that night? Did he feel sorry for her when she threw herself at him? Her body flushed all over with shame and desire thinking of that final round of fucking that night.

But that wasn't fucking. It was lovemaking.

She made a face and shook the cobwebs out of her head. Lovemaking. Please.

She looked at her watch. Five minutes till her first appointment. She needed to focus on that not on Booth. She would put him out of her mind for the rest of the day.

Except he wanted to meet tonight for dinner. She had no idea why. But she was going to pretend it wasn't going to talk about what happened. Because that was a subject she definitely wasn't going to talk about.

&$9^%

Booth sat with his back to the restaurant door, a position as unthinkable to an Army sniper as not following orders or not engaging a safety on a gun. Tonight though, he was afraid to face the door. To face her.

The smell of fried food and sweet cocktails filled the air. Several tables boasted large groups of co-workers/fraternity boys/office workers getting progressively drunker with each round. He should have chosen a different restaurant, but he wanted something big, impersonal, and above all, loud.

He took a sip of his beer as his mind drifted back to the morning he woke in the cabin with her after their escape, his finger on her clit and his cock pressed into the cheeks of her ass. She was moaning softly and pressing against him, parting her legs to allow him to slip effortlessly into her throbbing and slippery pussy. How had this happened? He wondered. He had tried so hard not to fall asleep, but the rocking of the boat and the soft vulnerable body next to him did him in. He closed his eyes and dropped his head back on the pillow while he thrust lazily into her. Who had initiated? Had he unconsciously reached over for her warm and supple body, his own urges leading him on?

His hand trailed up her firm belly to cup a breast and tug her nipple. It was faint, but he heard the word "harder" escape her lips in a whisper. His fingers twisted the hard tips and immediately he felt her pussy clench and release, drenching him with juices. He grunted and pistoned into her, riding out the spasm of her orgasm that griped his cock until his own tital wave washed over him and he felt his cock flood her womb with his seed.

They lay still for a few moments, spooned and sated. He kissed along the shoulder that was presented to him. She snuggled closer to him and sighed. This is it, he thought to himself. I want to stay right here, in this moment forever, and not think or do anything else. His eyes drifted shut, the sweetest sleep coming upon him.

A few moments later, however, he heard the captain on the bow barking out orders to his men and he knew they were close to shore.

He gently shook Temperance awake. When did he start thinking of her as Temperance and not Bones? Maybe after I fucked her brains out multiple times? he thought. Or maybe when she gave you a big, fat, messy blowjob? Those kinds of experiences did tend to make for more intimate terms of endearment.

He shook her shoulder again. "Temperance, uh Bones, Let's get you in the shower before we dock. I can find something for you to wear." When she didn't respond, he turned her over. She was awake, but seemed to be in a trance.

Fuck. She's in shock.

He took her hands and led her to the shower. She plodded along, like a sleepy toddler and stood in the shower patiently as he washed her. He started with her hair, then gently scrubbed her face, then her shoulders, breasts and back. His hands glided gently over her bruised buttocks and she moaned and leaned into his shoulder, wetting his shirt. He wasn't sure it was desire, or the pain from the welts. He carefully parted her legs and washed her mound and inner thighs of all the accumulated stickiness from their unions. He closed his eyes as he did this, as getting aroused now would be highly inappropriate. She obviously wasn't in her right mind. He decided he would worry later about how much he might have inadvertently taken advantage of her in this state for the past 24 hours.

He brought her out of the tub and dried her off carefully. The only thing he had for her to wear was his undershirt and his trench coat. He couldn't even offer her shoes. He took one last look at her standing next to the bed, looking anxious. She was still beautiful, even wearing his dirty white t-shirt, the black trench coat cinched around her waist and bare feet. He was disgusted with himself, but he didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay there and hold her and take care of her and make love to her. He took a deep steadying breath and headed out to talk to the crew.

The waiter appearing suddenly by his side interrupting his reverie. Booth's clouded eyes cleared, as he looked at the young spry man in the brightly colored shirt.

"Good evening sir. My name is Brad and I'll be your server this evening. Can I start you out with one of our signature cocktails?"

Booth waved him off, pointing to his beer ordered from the bar and explaining he was expecting a dinner partner. Brad nodded and threw out a 100 w smile before skipping off. Damn cheesy chain restaurant. He wanted to pick out something classier, but all his ideal places were too romantic. He wanted her to feel perfectly comfortable. He was about to put her on the spot, and he didn't want her to worry about upsetting other diners. Ideally, they would have this conversation in private, but getting her alone had been impossible.

Ever since he deposited her in her own room in Palermo and bought her a set of clothes, she had been in a frenzied state of denial. He watched the zombie she had turned into disappear the moment she slipped on the black flats he had bought her. She suddenly seemed to wake up and become more lucid, as if the shoes were magical, like ruby slippers. At the time he didn't make much of it. He was just relived she was feeling better. Now, though, weeks later she had yet to have a moment when she wasn't highly functioning, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, gregarious, unflappable Bones. It was like regular Bones, he thought, but on crack. He had talked to Angela and Jack about it. They both agreed she wasn't dealing with what happened to her. Initially Angela had tried to talk to her, but was struck down swiftly. It was the past, Bones had said, why think about something that painful if you didn't have to? But she didn't specify which part was more painful, the capture or the supposed debasement at Booth's hands.

He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

If that was the case, why was he here? Why was he insisting she open up and talk to him?

The door jangled open and without turning around, he knew it was her. It could have been that her perfume carried across the room or that the room had suddenly grown quieter. Looking around him, though, he could tell this wasn't true. The diners seemed to be laughing and talking as loudly as ever, munching on mozzarella sticks and sinking their teeth into juicy, plate-sized burgers.

Suddenly she was at his table and sliding wordlessly into her seat. She looked beautiful, as always, if not a little prim. Her luscious waves of hair were secured tightly in a bun that looked like it couldn't be undone without a crowbar. She was wearing what he assumed she wore to work, A-line burgundy skirt, cream-colored boat-necked cotton t-shirt, and sensible black flats. Another glance and he noticed they were same shoes he bought for her when they finally landed in Palermo.

Without mincing words or wasting time, she said, "Why am I here?"

*&9%$

Authors Note: A little angsty, but not too much, right? And definitely not enough sex. But stay tuned the next chapter will BLOW YOUR MIND.

AN #2: I took a second part-time job, which is why you haven't heard from me in a while. But I'll keep plugging away and post when I can.

AN #3: Leave a review or a message after the beep. Beeeeeeeeppppppp.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

To say she fled would be an understatement. She was out of her seat, out the door, and in a cab in the blink of an eye. She didn't look back and she didn't want to. She needed to get as far away from him and his haunting words as possible. She stared out of the window at the light rain as it turned heavier. It was a night like the one when they shared their first kiss. She ended up in a cab that night too. Only then there was excitement at the possibilities the kiss opened up. Now, though, well, now her heart was barred to him.

It was useless to dwell on how her stomach fluttered and then fell as she sat down opposite him. The black FBI suit never failed to send warm tingles through her body, even as his hard expression froze her heart in place. His face was haggard with worry, shadows under his eyes and small lines where his brow knit together. She knew he felt guilty about happened between them and she wished for the millionth time she could ease his fears, comfort him. Just say one or two words, like 'It's ok' or 'don't worry, it was nothing." But it wasn't 'nothing' and the words she wanted to say always got caught in her throat. She couldn't ease his fears when her own threatened to overwhelm her at any second. That's why she's been so pathologically cheerful since they got back. She couldn't deal with what happened.

The cab turned onto her street and she let her head fall onto the window with a soft thump. She couldn't wait to get back to her nighttime routine, the only thing keeping her sane. Glass of wine, pj's, and writing till she fell asleep at her desk. Her heroine Kathy was getting quite a workout, although she couldn't stomach putting her back in bed with Andy. She wouldn't be able to stop herself from calling Booth if she did that. So she satisfied herself with making Kathy hunt through the humid swamps of Louisiana for body parts.

She locked her front door and dropped her purse on the couch, not stopping till she reached the kitchen and poured herself a glass of Pinot. She grimaced before she took her first sip, thinking of the wine at the restaurant, God-awful sweet and cloying. It tasted like sugared perfume. Why would he pick a restaurant like that? Did he want to make it abundantly clear that he didn't see her in a romantic way? If so, she swallowed the bitterness that coated her throat, he succeeded.

She downed the first glass of wine like it was a shot of hard liquor. She skipped the change into pajamas, it was more imperative to start writing, to lose herself and forget the night's events. She poured a second glass of wine and was ready to sit down at the desk when she heard the door buzz.

Frozen, wine glass tipped to her lips, she didn't know what to do. It was Booth for sure, but did she want to open the door and have the conversation she had just run out on?

No. Yes. Maybe. She forced herself to choose one. The answer was no, definitely no. Her hands started shaking as she put down her wine glass and sat at her desk, trying to ignore the incessant door buzzer.

The decision to not open the door to him was carving a large trench through her gut and she had to physically restrain herself by gripping the arms of her desk chair. She should be stronger than this. She should be able to open the door or at least talk to him through the intercom and tell him to leave her alone. She should be able to be outraged, to give him a piece of her mind. In her mind's eye though, she pictured him standing out on the her doorstep in the rain like some Bronte hero. She herself felt less like Jane Eyre and more like the Grinch. Her heart ached.

She reached for her headphones, the expensive noise-blocking ones and quickly flipped through her music, bypassing Foreigner, and heading straight to AC/DC, which she didn't even like, but figured would drown out any and all Booth-related sounds.

Ten minutes later, she had to admit it was working. She had the novel open on her desktop and had managed to write a decent paragraph about Kathy stumbling on another supposed "crocodile" death of a co-ed. She slipped off the headphones and picked up her wine glass, keeping her eyes on the screen, her foot still tapping to the beat of the song. The glass was empty so she rose to refill when she saw him standing there in the middle of her living room, soaking wet. He was perfectly still, but he look on his face was thunderous. His eyes were dark slits, his mouth a tight line and she could see his jaw grinding away as he worked to keep himself in check.

Neither moved, pulling the moment out till it seemed to stretch forever. Seeing him there, so angry, should have made her angry back, or at least afraid. Instead, it made her whole body lean into him with a yearning. He was so much like he was that night: authoritative, in control, dark, dangerous.

Bullshit, she told herself, shaking herself from her ridiculous daydream. She should rail at him for letting himself in uninvited or berate him for getting her nice wood floors wet. This was her chance to give him a piece of her mind she said she would. But when her mouth opened, she said in a voice that came out meeker than she expected, "Would you like a towel?"

He said nothing, looking for all the world like he could stand there all night, soaking the wood planks, letting his clothes slowly dry on his body. Anything to not budge one inch from his position, both physically and otherwise.

"Oh, for heavens sake," she growled and moved swiftly past him towards the linen closet. She stalked back and threw a towel at him, which he let fall to the floor. He didn't move, but his eyes followed her as came to stand in front of him. She crossed her arms and looked at him petulantly, "Are you going to stand there and drip all over my floors all night or are you going to tell me why you're here?"

"You know," was all he said.

She let out an impatient curse and picked up the towel and began patting him dry all the while talking to herself out loud. "Why bother having locks if anyone can just let themselves in at any time? And how about signals? Aren't people supposed to read the signals that you," she glanced up with fury in her eyes as she finished the sentence, "don't want to talk to them?"

She patted his jacket dry, and seeing he still would not take over, huffed loudly and knelt to attend to his shoes that were starting to leave watermarks on the wood. She dried the tops off then pulled his leg slightly, indicating he should step on the towel. He did so, his first voluntary movement since arriving ten minutes before.

"Thanks," she said sarcastically, looking up at him from his feet. Any other words she might have uttered died in her throat as he glared down at her with glittering eyes. Suddenly the memory of being dominated and humiliated during their night together came rushing back to her, and she felt a tremendous surge of desire so strong that it stained her cheeks bright red and shot fiery sparks through her body. She stood and moved quickly to the other side of the room before Booth had a chance to blink twice.

"You have to go," she said, the desperation in her voice making it sound hollow and scratchy.

"No. I won't go. We are talking about this tonight, even if I have to tie you to a chair." Booth saw the flare in her eyes and decided to read it as anger, but really it looked more like desire. But that couldn't be, he thought. He'd better stick with anger. "Ok, not the best choice of words considering you were kidnapped and imprisoned, but dammit Temperance, I can't have you running away from this. I know what this is like. I can see how you are shoving it down, pretending like nothing happened. Pretending you weren't kidnapped, locked up and sexually abused. And that what I did to you," his voice trailed off. He looked away from her, shame coloring his features. "I mistreated you Temperance. You can keep up this charade of everything being normal, or you can tell me how angry and disgusted you were by my behavior and we can talk about it and hopefully move on." Booth felt rooted to the spot he was standing on, on the towel in wet shoes in the middle of the apartment of the woman he was in love with but had probably lost for good.

Brennan was pressed into a corner bookshelf looking like she wanted to find a way to squeeze herself between two volumes of 'The Essentials of Cultural Anthropology'. She wanted to say something, but her mouth and larynx refused to comply.

He continued, his heart lurching as he saw her cowering in the corner. "Anyone else would leave you alone. You know that, don't you Temperance. They'd say some shit about giving you time, about you working through your pain, organically," his mouth turned up into a sneer on the last word. "But I've been where you are. I know when someone needs to be left alone to process pain and when someone is running away."

He took a step toward her, disregarding the towel, threatening a new mark on the floor. "You're running. I know it. I can hear it in every fake laugh, every frantic movement. I see how you avoid my eyes and try to keep from touching me." He drew his hand heavily through his damp hair. "Temperance," his voice dropping to a whisper, "I never wanted to hurt you."

Her eyes closed and he saw her whispering something to herself. He thought he might be getting through to her, but when she opened her eyes, he could see nothing he had said had made a difference. She fixed him with a glare fitting of an irate hostess and squared her shoulders. So she had decided to fight back, he thought. Well, it was better than nothing.

"I think we should listen to the therapy professionals about this Booth. I've just been through a very traumatic experi..."

"Bullshit," he cut her off. If he even believed her for a moment, he would let her be. But her expressed distrust of mental health practitioners plus her automatic defensiveness let him know she was bluffing.

They both moved at almost the same moment. He towards her as she scrambled past; she heading for the bathroom, bedroom or anyplace with a locked door. She was fast, but he was faster. He gripped her upper arm and spun her around to face him.

He dropped his hand immediately with a frustrated groan. "I'm sorry, Jesus, Bones, I don't want to make things worse. I shouldn't have grabbed you like that." He looked away, prepared for her to run off. He'd let himself out, go get a drink somewhere. Maybe six or seven. And then quietly ask for the transfer to a new partner that he probably should have asked for as soon as they came back.

She said nothing, just remained standing in front of him with her eyes downcast. He couldn't help looking back at her with a hungry gaze. She was just so beautiful, even scared and vulnerable like this. Maybe even because of it. Hell, he didn't know. All he knew was that it was time to go.

"Bones...Temperance...I just...it's just..." He was having difficulty completing a simple sentence. He didn't want this to be the end of everything, their long partnership, the intensity that had grown between them. He took a long staggered breath and started again. "You know how much I care for you Temperance. I will be here when you want to talk. Whenever that is. And I am very sorry for everything I did that night, how I hurt you." He felt a lump rising in his throat and he turned to leave but stopped when he heard the soft voice behind him.

"It wasn't that."

When he turned she was standing hunched over slightly, studying the carpet. He didn't say anything or move, afraid he might scare her off like a nervous bird. "What did you say?"

"Nothing," she mumbled, turning away.

He crossed over to her swiftly and grabbed her arm. "No, goddammit! You want to tell me. What. Did. You. Say?"

She ripped her arm from his grasp but didn't move. "It wasn't you," she shouted.

"It wasn't me? It wasn't me that hurt you? So it's the kidnapping itself? Those men? I get that. We can work together on that." Her eyes were wide and fearful. His, he hoped, were gentle and understanding.

She slowly started to break apart, her voice falling with each syllable, nearly becoming inaudible. "It wasn't the kidnapping, or those...men. Yes, that was horrible and will probably haunt me for the rest of my life. But..." she choked up, "But you..."

He tried to wait patiently while she gathered her courage.

"You...you didn't hurt me." The deep breath she took filled her whole body for a moment with only an ounce of courage. "I liked it. I liked what you did to me, I liked when you hurt me." The awful weight of her words hit her like a ton if bricks and she slowly starting sinking to the carpet as if all the blood was draining slowly from her body.

He caught her on the way down and picked her up, taking her over to the couch, sitting her on his lap, both oblivious to his soaked-through clothes. When the tears began to flow he smoothed her hair and rocked her. The torrent and torment of tears lasted for several minutes before she tapered off, sniffling into his shirt.

She felt silly, like a little girl sitting in daddy's lap. She also felt humiliated. Now Booth knew the deep, dark secret she had discovered about herself. In no time, he'd be making some excuse to leave, then she'd have lost him forever. She felt tired. Bone-weary. She didn't realize how exhausting it was holding it in, holding herself away from him.

"Temperance," he whispered her name softly.

She looked up at him, her tear-stained face was hopeful, her eyes wide and glassy. What was it about a woman's tears that made men so amorous? Because at that moment all he wanted to do was yank up her skirt, rip off her panties, and fuck her into the ground.

Instead he leaned into her and captured her mouth in a soft kiss.

They broke apart panting slightly. He wanted to go further, wanted to sweep her up in his arms and take her to bedroom where he'd ravage her for days. But he knew they had to talk first. He nuzzled into her hair and whispered, "What part did you like the best?"

He could feel rather than see her blush, the heat staining his cheek. "I dunno..."

"Yes you do. Tell me."

There was no mistaking the authoritative tone he was using. She felt herself lean into him as she tried to answer his question. "I, uh, like being on my knees in front of you. I liked serving you. I liked it when you spanked me with the crop." She groaned, burying her burning face in his neck again. "Oh God, I'm such a bad feminist."

"Why? Because it's what turns you on? The bedroom is a different place than the rest of the world Temperance. It's more like your subconscious. It's about getting what you need rather than what you think you want."

She listened, and then was quiet for a moment before she spoke again. "But what about those dog people? The ones you said were silly, that real sex didn't need games?"

His brow knit in confusion. "Dog people? Oh, the pony people you mean. I know what I said, but maybe I was wrong. I do know," he gripped her tighter, "that as horrible as the circumstances were, you turned me on so much that night. Seeing you, naked and vulnerable like that, at my whim, it turned me on more than I like to think about."

"Really?" She said, lifting her chin to look at him.

"Think about it, Bones. I shouldn't have enjoyed it at all. I've felt like a monster this last month. I thought you hated me."

She reached up and kissed him softly on the cheek. "Far from it," she whispered. He turned his head and captured her mouth in a deep soulful kiss. His lips trailed down her throat to her collarbone where he sucked gently. "So what now?" he said nuzzling the back of her neck.

She swallowed hard. It was now or never. She had to tell him exactly what she wanted. "I don't have anything. You know, to spank me with." she blushed again, scarlet and completely adorable.

"I think we can figure something out." He leaned back and spanned his arms across the back of the couch and splayed his knees, making her shift to accommodate him. Sitting that way he took over most of the couch. She sensed she wouldn't be sitting next to him anytime soon. Just the sight of him looking so big and powerful made her knees weak.

"Take off your clothes."

She stood and peeled off her clothes quicker than she meant to, with more desperation than she wanted him to see. She stood in front of him, naked, with her eyes downcast.

He watched her as she undressed, trying to control his emotions. He loved her, wanted to please her, but could he do this? Did she really want this? Or was she still suffering the effects of the ordeal she had endured? Would he be making things worse?

Yet watching her, as she stood in front of him, exposed and embarrassed, he had to admit he was more turned on than he had ever been in his entire life. His cock had risen and was demanding attention. It was really the one in charge.

"Come here," he stated rather than asked. She took a tentative step closer. He gathered her hands in his and looked up at her.

"There's something there, right? Between us?" She nodded, lost in his eyes. "And this is what you want? She nodded again, another flush crossing her features. She struggled not to look away in embarrassment.

"Then kneel down and close your eyes." She did as she was told and for a moment savored the feel of kneeling at his feet. How could this small act of supplication make her knees so weak and her pussy ache?

After a long while, he spoke. "This is the way this is going to work Temperance. " He stroked the top of her head gently. "This is strictly a bedroom experience. Out of it I expect you to be the same brilliant, fierce, fiery, independent woman I've always known." She opened her eyes and looked up at him, a smile spreading over her face.

But his face was stern. "Here, though, in the bedroom," he looked around at the living room, "well, metaphorical bedroom, I'm in charge. Do you understand?"

She nodded mutely, unable to speak even if she wanted to.

"I promise to protect and care for you, but you will follow my every order without question. You are here to serve me. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes." The insides of her thighs were wet now from his little speech and her pussy throbbed.

"Yes, Sir." he prompted.

"Yes, Sir." Uttering those words broke something inside her and she started to tear up. "I want this Booth. I want you."

He struggled to not just pick her up and gather her in his lap for another cuddle. Instead he grasped her chin and turned her face to him.

"I think we'll start with a punishment. So you are clear about my intensions. I'll make it light this time but in the future don't expect leniency. Understand? "

"Yes sir," she squeaked out, her nerves taking over her former resolve.

"Good. Climb up here. Ass up." He smacked the top of his thighs with the palm of his hand.

She moved onto his lap, her bottom resting on his thighs, with her feet and upper body dangling over each side. She was close to a rolling boil already; she knew it wouldn't take much to send her over. She tried to close her legs, certain he could now see how swollen and wet she was. She wanted him to touch her, but she knew she'd have to endure whatever pain he dished out first. She was afraid, but more turned on than she had ever been in her life.

At first he just caressed the pale soft globes sitting before him. Her skin was so smooth, unblemished. He could hardly believe he was about to mark it with his hand. The thought made him shudder with desire. He could already feel his cock poking up into her belly and he remembered how many times he got hard that night. Three? Four? All he knew was he could have taken her till he passed from exhaustion or had a heart attack, whichever came first.

And now? This was a dream come true. Literally. He had dreamt of that night often, replaying the events that actually happened. But one recurring dream was spanking her with his bare hand. He wanted to feel her flesh buckle directly under his blows. He wanted to mark her, make her ass bright red. He wanted to make her so sore she'd have trouble sitting for the next week and to remember whom it was who owned her, who had mastered her. He wasn't sure what was going on with him. Or with her. But something seemed to align for them. They had discovered at the same time that they were opposite sides of the same coin. Yang to her yin. Peanut butter to her jelly. Mated.

Without further ado, he brought his hand down hard on her buttocks, belying his intention to go easy on her. She winced, but didn't say anything. He struck again and felt her squirm.

"Be still," he commanded. "Now I think five blows should suffice this first time around. Why don't you count for me? The first two don't count."

Brennan's face fell as she thought of five more swats of his hand. She was unprepared for how much they hurt. During their night together she was so pumped full of adrenalin, she hardly felt it. Now the act was intimate and impossible to avoid. She was at his mercy.

He spanked her hard on her upper thighs. It stung so much she couldn't form words for a moment.

"Cat got your tongue Bones? I asked you to count." He sighed dramatically. "We'll have to start over. "

He began again and this time Brennan dutifully counted off. By the end her bottom was on fire and she had tears pouring down her cheeks. Booth softly rubbed her after the last stroke then dipped a finger between her legs. "Mmm, you are sopping wet, Bones. Did that turn you on?"

She nodded her head, her hair shaking around her. "Yes sir."

He slipped one, then two fingers into her tight channel, pumping languidly. She moaned and wiggled her ass. Her juices coated his entire hand as he moved back and forth in her. He felt her climax rising and he withdrew his hand. "No. You'll come when I say you can. It's too soon yet."

He wanted to draw it out and make her suffer. He wanted to drive her over and over to the brink and pull her back. But he couldn't stand not being inside her for another second. Hauling her up to straddle facing him, he unzipped his pants and impaled her on his cock. He slid in slowly, her tightness adjusting to his girth. Their eyes were locked during the long slow journey that felt as much like a first time than any other experience either had had. Her eyes were shimmering with love and streaked with shed tears. She looked glorious. When he bottomed out, he lifted her ass and thrust back into her. Her eyes closed and her head rocked back, the sensations too much to bear. She cried out, her climax hitting her hard and too fast, causing her to writhe and shudder on his lap.

His hand gripped her hips tightly as he made her ride him. He moved his legs further apart to spread hers more and he knew he was hitting her womb with every inarticulate cry of pain that escaped her lips when he thrust in. The surge of lust he felt knowing her was hurting her at the same time as giving her pleasure surprised him, but he was too lost in her to think what it might mean.

He captured her mouth in a tight kiss, then moved his tongue in to battle with hers. She tasted so sweet, her skin so soft and supple, the rising and falling of her hips driving him to the edge of ecstasy. He buried his hands in her hair and pulled back her head to run his lips down her throat and suckle at the place where her neck met her shoulder. She moaned and scratched his back with her nails, the sensations unbelievably intense and almost too much for her. His shoulders were broad under his dress shirt, broad and strong enough to hold her up and let her ride him. He was fully clothed and she was fully naked and the thought of it, the pure subjection to him had her creaming around him again, another orgasm so powerful she could only let out a small, strangled cry before collapsing onto him.

With a groan he pulled out and moved her to the rug, sheathing himself in her once more. He pulled her legs over her head in a wide V and fucked the living daylights out of her. His fingers found her clit and as she peaked again he roared into her, his cock bulging then bursting, as he thrust his seed deep within her. He wanted it lodged there. He wanted to own her inside and out.

He withdrew and released her legs, rolling her over on her side. Facing each other they said nothing, letting their hands do all the talking. Their eyes never broke from each other; a connection once established that could not be broken by anyone or anything.

She could feel his breath on her lips, making them tingle, and felt other tingles radiate down her spine to her core, opening herself up to him again. He sensed it and let his hand trail down to her pussy, stroking her gently.

Words weren't important anymore. They each knew what the other needed. He stroked her until she cried out again, keening into him, clutching his shoulders. Once she came down, he moved her onto her back and straddled her, guiding his cock into her willing and open mouth.

"Want to fill you with my come Temperance. Everywhere. " He thrust into her mouth as she tried to swallow him down into her throat. "Mmm…that's it, my little slave. You throat, your pussy, your ass belongs to me. To me."

All his talking was making her incredibly hot and she reached down to finger her clit, rubbing it furiously. He noticed and frowned, never losing his rhythm. "Did I tell you could do that?"

She tried to release him from her mouth, but he stopped her with his hands. "A nod will do." She nodded with his cock still buried in her mouth.

"You don't come till I tell you to." He continued his languid thrusts, loving the longing look in her eyes as he fucked her throat.

His thrusts increased in pace and she struggled not to gag. "Never let you go. Never," he moaned, his orgasm mounting.

"Now, Temperance, make yourself come now!"

She didn't need to be told twice. Her fingers pinched and rubbed her clit till she exploded along with him, the swallowing of his come making her peak a second time.

He stood abruptly and removed his clothes. "Stand," he ordered. He wiped a stray piece of come from her cheek and fed it to her. Then he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom and placed her gently under the covers, sliding in next to her.

"You are my woman, Temperance. I know it's been a long time coming, but I claim you as mine. Do you want that?"

Her eyes teared up. "Yes, Booth. Seeley. Sir. I want that. I want you."

He pulled her in for a soft kiss then snuggled her up next to him, spooning her. He sighed contentedly. "Never let you go."

She smiled and let her eyes drift shut, sleep and peace finally upon her.

**9&*%#**

_AN: first off, thanks for your patience. I know it took forever for me to post, but hopefully it was worth it. There might be an epilogue if I can get my ass in gear and finish it. But if not I'm glad you all were here till the end. Thank for your notes and words of encouragement, including the ones that repeated letters in succession. Like "Pleeeaase finish" or "Mooooorrrrreeee!"_

_AN: leave a review or drop me a line. I love you all._


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